Plague Journal At the Ides of March 2020, Abandoned

The sound of a piano playing a dirge lies in the air. It was the day before general quarantine measures were implemented by the Austrian government. That same night, for the first time in recent memory, Vienna's stars were visible. The enemy is invisible. The following day, law took on a martial shape. It would not reach the 14th district just yet; in the morning people still walked into the mom n pop shop, opened; by nighttime, they yelled at each other from their yards. I ordered medicine. I am healthy yet. Nothing much is happening. Normalcy is inaction. Tyrol is blamed for wanting money. Everyone always does. I am calmer than previously. A dying fly in the stairwell today. Feels like there are fewer insects in the air. I have not gone out today. Wrote a poem, broke a heart, tried to mend it. I spread my love wide, yet thin. 90 percent of people believe in the quarantine, a known about which nonbelief shouldn't exist, but does. The infection rate has worsened from a 200% increase per 3 to a mere 2,8 days. 10% will infect 20%, of which the vulnerable will perish. The radio says: "Stay inside and stay healthy." I am very scared. Called the disease info hotline. I am not at risk. Those older than myself around me, however, are. This too will pass. This, too, will be past, a dead disease. Or it will become a new fact of life. Grocery shopping done, I wait for my paramours. Desperately aching for human touch in its deepest, loveliest form. Many seem to feel that way. The same night, a young man hobbles down the road, unaware of his surroundings. The world feels cursed. Mayors insult their disobedient subjects with good reason. We are young, but even during a plague, not invincible. Solidarity, threefold among young, middle-aged and old is desired, but who knows how bad the cabin-fevered squabbling will get. My father's sister, Christine, is sick. INTERLUDE Earlier than usual, the sun has gone down. The billboards' thousand yard stare looks into dead streets; flags are jerked to and fro atop their poles. Mankind must change its life. Head empty, life empty, apartment full of tat. I love everyone who is a part of my life. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Today, for the first time in years, I have not set foot out into the open; used to be due to dysphoria, now the reasons are worse. I worry, but aunt Christine seems to be recovering. Copper pigs calling themselves "nerdy" get drunk on their new emergency powers. Inexorably, nauseatingly, from hundreds of racing police cars, "I am from Austria" blares. My projects are beginning to leave a mark on me. I have finished one. The United States has finally implemented measures, strolling in a race against time. I know at least 4 people infected,and don't know if that is a lot. A loved one told me they felt they were dying. My resolve has a chip in it, like my tooth. My next project is complete and is merely awaiting more art. I can only cry tears of inertia. INTERLUDE Like wished upon the stars and stripes time and time again, death has come to America, the country leading the world with its infection/mortality rate. A Greek choir would sing of hubris - secretly knowing it plain, unfiltered, disgustingly misanthropic incompetence. My family has abandoned me. I have abandoned hope. I am finishing this early, for the sake of my mental health. Quinn K-